


We Did Things Differently There

by halotolerant



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Angst, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn Battle, The Problem of Susan, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halotolerant/pseuds/halotolerant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Susan says she doesn't remember Narnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Did Things Differently There

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Sibling incest. None of this is intended to be underage [I'm envisioning Susan now at 18, Peter 19, looking back], but what does Narnian Time mean?

Susan says she doesn’t remember Narnia. 

She says it, and looks at Peter, already knowing what she will see. 

He frowns and looks away, and she curls her lip and feels a pity for him that is new and horrible. Whatever he may say to the contrary, he is glad if she forgets, and she ought to know, she who knows him as fully as one human being may know another. 

It had been laughter once, between them. Sunsets and sticky-figs and the slow dances of the waning summer. Years passed, their old lives shed like dead skin, like some unwanted un-needed husk of no further relevance, and they had grown up together. 

He was her knight. She was his lady. In each their own manner, Edmund and Lucy were never interested in that way of things, and the Animals had quite a different conduct of all matters marital, and so they had only each other, and were all to each other. 

She can still remember the tourney on Terebinthia, when he wore her colours, and she kissed him upon the lips in front of all the crowd and a great cheer went up, for why would it not? Things are not the same in Narnia, and they were the greatest king and fairest queen in the oldest of happily-ever-afters.

 Anything so perfect should have been suspect, but she was less wise then. 

Growing up the second time has been duller and harder and more painful. And she misses him, in ways she had forgotten to. 

She kisses boy, more boys than her mother would think was quite proper if she knew the whole of it, and waits for one of them to make her feel as he did. She wants so much, wants with hunger that is in perfect echo of that which came the first time.

She wants his mouth, wants his hands upon her, aches inside for him, hollow and hungry between her legs. 

Any boy, any man, one might argue – would any other not do as well? 

Perhaps yes, had it only been his body she had known.

For yes, he had the trick of her, he knew how to touch and when to hold back, knew the secret places of her body, fit within her so perfectly, painfully sweet. 

And perhaps the ways she knew him, many of them were knowledge of the body - the creases of his brow, the tension of his shoulders when the councillors talked of war, the distance in his eyes when a good Beast had done wrong and must be punished, and the fierce brightness he so often had after a day’s sparring or hunting when he wanted her, only her, always her. 

It had not always been so easy – they had taken a while to learn, stumbling and blushing and laughing and always seeming to have more knees than could make anything practical – but it was years, so many years that they had, and that was time enough to grow smooth and simple, to fall into each other calmly, gently, without fear or confusion. Peter had even joked, in latter days, had stood on the balcony of their rooms and joked that soon enough they would sleep alongside each other innocent as babes, and he had laughed and she had laughed, and pinched him and told him that perhaps indeed he was no longer interesting, all the while stepping backwards, all the while sliding her gown from her shoulders, and he had knelt before her and pressed his mouth between her legs, and she had choked and gasped and grabbed him, never wanting to let go. 

For she had loved him with more than the flesh, had loved more than his body with more than her own, and though their physical forms have changed and changed again, she loves him still.

But Peter would prefer her to say that she does not remember. Peter, who longs for her – she knows the signs too well to miss, knows which evenings he must fight to keep from touching her – would prefer her to deny everything, even Narnia, even Aslan, even her own heart. Would prefer her to betray herself than betray him.

And this is how much she loves him: She obeys. 


End file.
